


show them all you're not the ordinary type

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: summer spinoff 2020 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arson, Blood and Gore, Character Death, F/F, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Allison has thought about killing Kate more times than she can count. She's never once thought about allowing someone else into that moment, giving them thatpower.But that was before she met Violet.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Violet
Series: summer spinoff 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766686
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Summer Spinoff





	show them all you're not the ordinary type

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt "Allison/Violet - slice" (which was my own prompt, oops) at the [Summer Spinoff](https://elasticella.dreamwidth.org/33116.html) fest. heed the tags! 
> 
> title from [Let's Kill Tonight](youtube.com/watch?v=uu2XSQgdQDY) by Panic! At The Disco.

Allison has thought about killing Kate more times than she can count. 

She's dreamed about it in the middle of the night, woken up with rage-warmed veins and a throbbing head. She's daydreamed about it during particularly boring classes, dreamed of wrapping her hands tight around her aunt's throat while Finstock animatedly talked about economics. Her thoughts have drifted in that direction during dates and brunches and pack movie nights. On bad days, days where her friends are clearly in pain, pain that in many regards can be tied back to Kate, the thoughts are dangerously close to all consuming. On those days, she has to spend most of her energy on simply getting through the day, lest she lose hours to remaining in one place and picturing the myriad of ways in which she could turn Kate's training against her. 

She thinks about doing it quickly, ending it with one brutally efficient motion. She thinks about taking her time, dragging it out over hours and days, carefully calculating her actions for maximum longevity. She thinks about doing it with her hands, with her knives, with ropes and chains and electricity and baseball bats. 

She thinks about Kate's blood. About the warmth of it drenching of her hands, of droplets dulling the gleam of her blades, of the abstract spatter it might make on a cracked concrete floor. 

She thinks about Kate's breath. About how it would sound as it came to an end, about how a room would plunge into silence with its sudden absence, about how it might shudder and pitch, fluctuating depending on what she was doing. 

She thinks about Kate's eyes. About how they would look with sweat and blood trapped in her eyelashes and makeup smeared around them, how they might widen in pain, how they might grow paler as the life drained out of them. 

She thinks about what seems like everything, every possibility and contingency, until the inside of her mind is drenched in gore and filled with echoing screams. 

In all of those thoughts, while the specific scenarios may vary widely, there is one common thread that connects them all. In every situation, Kate's death comes about at her hands. There is no one else there; she is fully in control of every decision, takes it upon herself solely to enact the collective revenge of her friends (revenge that they may not be aware of wanting to inflict). Turning the reins over to someone else, allowing them into that moment, giving them that _power_ , has not once occurred to her. 

But that was before Violet appeared in her life. 

She hears about Violet before she sees her. Even in a school the size of Beacon Hills High, new kids attract instant attention, and by the time her lunch period comes around, she knows Violet’s name, the school she transferred from, the bus route she takes. 

Moments after they’ve gotten settled at their chosen table and started to dig in, Kira glances up and casually says, “Oh, there’s Violet. I’m gonna wave her over.” 

Automatically, Allison glances over her shoulder towards the door. As soon as she gets a proper look at Violet, as soon as their gazes lock as Violet strolls towards their table, her disinterest is swept away by something far more consuming. 

She recognizes the gleam in Violet's eye immediately, is familiar with it from seeing it reflected back at her from her mirror every morning. It is the gleam of someone occupied with death, someone whose mind is forever turned to it. It’s the gleam of a kindred spirit. 

Based on the way Violet's smile ticks up into a smirk as soon as she sits opposite Allison and introduces herself, Allison isn’t the only one who immediately feels the connection.

It’s too risky for them to be near each other – Allison can already feel the threat of exposure, can feel the gauze she’s managed to drape over herself shift dangerously close to falling away – but Violet ends up integrated into their group almost immediately, brought in by Kira’s welcoming spirit and kept there by the way her barbed sarcasm jousts with Stiles’, the way her pre-existing knowledge of lacrosse comes out, the way her eyes keep locking on Allison’s, pinning her like a butterfly to a cork board. 

Withdrawing completely isn’t an option; her friends will notice, which will lead to too many questions. But she still tries her best to find other things to do when Violet is around, to keep people between the two of them, create some kind of buffer to block the power of Violet’s gaze. 

It doesn’t work. 

Two weeks after she appears in Allison’s life for the first times, two weeks that Allison spends on tenterhooks, always on guard, Violet materializes from the forest while Allison is on a run. She’s fast; before Allison can take evasive action, Violet collides with her, propels her backwards until she’s pressed into a tree, rough bark scratching at the small of her back. 

"Who did you kill?" Violet asks quietly, forearms braced on either side of Allison's head. She pauses for a moment, but when Allison doesn’t offer an answer, she continues. "I know that's what you're thinking about when no one else is looking at you. I know that’s what you’re thinking about when you zone out in class or on the bleacher. So…" One of her hands slides away from the tree and wraps around Allison’s chin, holding her head steady. “Who was it?” 

There's no point in lying, and truthfully, Allison doesn't _want_ to lie. Despite the residual terror lingering in her stomach, now that they’ve finally crashed together, it feels refreshing to have her soul laid bare, to have someone recognize what's really going on inside of her, to have someone who won't believe her excuses about being tired or worried about school when her attention drifts away. 

"My aunt," she replies, curling her fingers tight around Violet's biceps. "But I haven't killed her. Not yet." 

Violet tilts her head, looking at her quizzically, like she’s studying a creature that she’s learned about from books but has just encountered in real life for the first time. 

"Why not?" she asks. Automatically, Allison opens her mouth, but there's no answer conveniently waiting behind her lips. 

"I don't know," she reluctantly says. She expects Violet to shake her head like a disapproving teacher. Instead, she releases Allison’s chin and tucks a piece of hair that has escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. 

“Maybe you’ve thought about it too much. Maybe,” she says, looking Allison directly in the eyes, “you need an actual plan. I’m good at planning.” 

Allison’s chest is too tight, and Violet’s eyes are too dark. She could get lost in there if she wasn’t careful, could lose herself in the promises that seem to exist there. Looking down at Violet’s mouth, hovering so close to her own, doesn’t help, because those promises are inherent in Violet’s voice as well. 

Maybe it’s their proximity or the sheer novelty of feeling recognized for once, but Allison feels compelled to nod. 

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s get planning.” 

Violet’s answering grin is as sharp as razor wire. 

Allison wants to cut herself upon it.

&. 

Once they've gained access to the phone records for her grandfather's room at the senior's residence he lives in now, spending his days spewing up black blood as he rots from the inside out, finding Kate is easy.

Waiting, on the other hand, is difficult. 

In the days between when they find Kate's address and when her dad finally goes out of town for a business trip, it's all Allison can do to keep a veneer of respectability on. She fumbles her way through a movie night with Lydia and study sessions with Malia and Kira and dinner with her dad, but the entire time, her mind is filled with thoughts of Kate. 

And Violet. 

The only time she feels truly free is with Violet.

During a lacrosse game, they spend their time side by side, discussing their plan in low voices, cheering whenever the rest of the bleachers does and falling immediately back into their conversation once the cacophony dies back down. Late at night, when Allison can't sleep, she calls Violet, and they talk for hours in hushed voices as Allison ignores every other notification that comes through. 

Finally, her father leaves town, and only an hour later, Violet shows up at the curb in a car that is suspiciously nice for someone so young. When Allison slides inside, she's accosted with the overpowering stench of musky cologne. 

"Sorry," Violet says with a shrug as Allison coughs quietly. "I would have grabbed something else, but no one is going to miss this one for a few days." 

Allison rolls down the window and settles back into the plush leather seats, absently running one hand down the outside of her thigh to make sure her daggers are still secure in the sheath strapped underneath her dress. It's a dress that she pulled out of the bag in the corner of her room, the one she's been meaning to drop off at a thrift store for weeks.

It's a dress that she won't miss. 

They drive for hours through the dark, cross from California into the emptiness of Nevada, in silence that is only occasionally broken by the click of the overhead light and the sound of rustling paper as Violet peers at the map spread across her lap. Allison stares out into the blackness blanketing the desert, notes the occasional gleam as their headlights strike animal eyes on the shoulder of the highway and tries her best to let her mind go empty. If she thinks about what is about to happen too much, she may very well get stage fright. 

She will not allow herself to be humiliated like that.

Shortly before two o’clock in the morning, Violet slows the car down as a road abruptly appears, no more than a flattened dirt path intersecting with the asphalt. The sign indicating it is so lacerated with bullet holes and rust that it’s impossible to read the name of it. 

Down the road, what could be a few hundred yards or a few miles away, a single light cuts through the vastness of the night. 

Violet turns down the road and slows to a near crawl. Sand flows underneath their tires, and small pebbles rattle against the frame and strike the windshield. After the first few times that it happens, Allison stops flinching. She keeps her vision focused on the steady glow of the light as it slowly grows closer. 

With such a definitive sign, it’s almost like Kate is _begging_ to be found. 

The light is still a fair distance away when Violet pulls off the side of the road and nestles behind a cluster of boulders that must have rolled down from the mountains millennia ago. Once the car is off and all of the lights have been killed, the void of the desert presses against the doors of the car, compressing them until Allison’s chest aches. It would be all too easy for her to duck her head low between her knees and let herself grow faint with the weight of the pressure, would be all too easy for her to ask Violet to turn around, to retreat back to Beacon Hills and turn her thoughts away from her aunt, turn them in more normal directions. 

But there’s nothing normal about her life now. Her family saw to that. _Kate_ saw to that. 

So, after reaching out to Violet and receiving a squeeze of her hand, she slips out into the night. 

The air is brisk against her exposed skin, and she pulls her jacket close, as if it will make up for the bareness of her legs under the hem of her dress. The ground is loose underneath her boots, and she knows that the instability of the earth beneath her feet is only one of the many hazards it may contain. While her vision is slowly adjusting, taking advantage of the expanse of stars and the sliver of moon overhead, it would be all too easy to miss a cluster of rocks or a rattlesnake. It’s also entirely possible that Kate has booby trapped the place that she’s calling home, prepared herself for an unexpected house call. 

At least on that front, Allison feels more confident. Unless Kate has significantly added to her repertoire, Allison knows how to turn her traps against her. 

“Ready?” Violet asks, coming around the front of the car, hoisting a backpack on. 

Allison takes a deep, steadying breath and turns her attention back to the light out in the desert, the light that is calling to her as clearly as if it was Kate’s voice. 

“Ready,” she answers, taking the first step of many. 

The car is barely out of sight behind them when Violet takes her hand again. 

Allison wedges her fingers even tighter between Violet’s and doesn’t let go.

&.

Catching Kate is almost disappointingly easy.

They aren’t met with a single interruption on their journey to the front door, over which hangs the light that has beckoned Allison through the desert. It’s swarmed by moths and other insects, each of them looking for solace from the darkness. As she gazes at them, Allison squeezes Violet’s hand again, relishes in the warmth that has gathered between their palms. 

She understands how the moths feel. 

They proceed in silence, circling behind the building to get a lay of the land, skirting around a pickup truck parked at the side. At the back of the trailer, one window is cracked open, screen pulled taut, and the sill is wide enough for Allison to grip with her fingers and pull herself up, muscles quivering as her legs hang free, not daring to look for purchase in case she kicks the side of the trailer and wakes Kate up. 

She only looks through the window for a few moments, but it’s long enough for her to glimpse Kate, face turned towards the ceiling, half-covered by a blanket, arms splayed at her side. She actually looks _comfortable_ , and Allison finds herself remembering a lesson Kate gave her once on how to get the lightest sleep possible, to slumber just deep enough to get rest without becoming totally unaware of your surroundings. 

Seems like she’s forgotten her own lessons. Or, perhaps, this is brought about by unearned confidence, confidence that she’s beyond reproach, that no one would _dare_ to come find her out here, even after all the pain she has caused. 

It’s almost _offensive_ that she considers herself safe. 

Allison’s going to make her regret that before the night is over. 

Once she’s lowered herself back to the ground, she wraps her fingers into Violet’s sleeve and tugs her close, so that she can speak with her lips caressing the curve of Violet’s ear. 

“She’s in there,” she murmurs. Violet’s breath catches, and her cheek presses against Allison’s. A moment later, as Violet’s fingers trace up the outside of Allison’s thigh, slide under the hem of her dress until they reach the knives strapped to her skin, it’s Allison’s turn to stop breathing for a moment. 

“Good,” Violet whispers. The sound of her pulling one of Allison’s knives free seems as loud as a thunderclap. As she presses it into Allison’s palm, she continues, lips brushing against the curve of Allison’s cheek, “After you.” 

Allison slits the screen from corner to corner, hauls herself through the window, edge scraping painfully against her stomach, and lands on the bed as quietly as a ghost. 

It’s a comparison that seems appropriate seeing as, in the few seconds after Kate wakes up to a knife at her throat before she manages to get her features under control, Kate looks like she’s seeing exactly that.

&.

Kate doesn’t speak until they have her in the living room, tied securely to a wooden chair that was previously located at the plastic topped table in the kitchen area of the trailer. She did try to fight on the way there, tried to duck her way from underneath Allison’s knife and slip around Violet but, fast as a viper, Violet had lashed out and slammed the hard line of her forearm directly into Kate’s throat.

That had put an end to the escape attempt. 

“So,” Kate says, her voice still raspy from Violet’s blow. A trickle of blood is staining her throat from a thin laceration caused by Allison’s blade. Flicking her hair out of her face, she juts her chin towards Violet, who is leaning against the wall, backpack resting at her feet. “Who’s this?” 

Before Allison can come up with a response, Violet answers, “Call me a concerned member of the public.” 

Kate snorts and flicks her gaze over to Allison. “You must be falling behind with your training, if you needed backup.” 

Allison slaps her, barely aware that she’s done it until the sting settles into her palm. More blood trickles from the corner of Kate’s mouth, and she tongues at it carefully before her mouth splits into a grin. If the smile causes her any pain, she doesn’t show it as she looks back towards Violet. 

“What did she tell you? Did she tell you that I taught her everything she knows? Did she tell you what _she_ did to her friends? I know she may look like little Miss Innocent but… well, you know what they say about looks.” 

Violet nods. “I know what she did. And I know that she asked for forgiveness. I know her friends gave it to her.” Her eyes linger heavily on Allison for a long moment, and despite the present situation, Allison feels warmth gather in the bottom of her stomach and sink down to the crux between her thighs. “Did _you_ ask for forgiveness?” 

“No,” Allison says softly before Kate can open her mouth. “She didn’t.” 

Kate continues to smile, and Allison knows that Kate has no intention on straying from that path. Even here, when she has to know what she’s facing, she’s not going to back down.

Some people are capable of undergoing tremendous change – Allison knows that from her own personal experience, she knows it from watching the people she loves, from watching people like Derek and her dad – and if she thought that Kate were capable of that, if she thought that Kate could take a critical look at herself and take responsibility for the spectacular amount of pain that she has caused, then she would consider dropping her knife. She would try to be a shepherd, try to show Kate that there’s another way, that old habits don’t _have_ to die hard, that those habits can be overwritten. 

But she can see it in Kate’s face. She can see it in the defiant jut of her chin and the width of her smile and the feral look in her eyes, the look of a caged animal that isn’t going to submit without a fight. 

Kate isn’t going to change. It’s far too late for that. No matter where she is in the world, whether she’s a dozen states or an ocean away, she’s always going to remain a threat. She’s always going to hang over Allison’s head, always going to be in her dreams, lurking in every dark corner.

So the only thing left for Allison to do, the only _responsible_ decision she can make, is to eliminate the threat now. 

This is what her dreams have been preparing her for. 

But, even though she knows what she has to do, even though she can picture it vividly, she can’t bring herself to move. She remains still, standing in front of Kate with her fingers sweating around the grip of her knife, remains staring down at her aunt who even now, bleeding and tied to a chair, is somehow managing to get the best of her. 

It’s infuriating, and Allison feels like she might choke on the fury, but she still can’t move, and the longer she remains still, the larger Kate’s grin grows, until it’s a truly grotesque sight, bloodied lips pulled back to their full extent. 

Before she can scream with utter frustration, Violet’s fingers brush against her wrist. Allison tears her eyes away from Kate’s damnably smug face and looks down as Violet carefully tugs the dampened grip of the knife from Allison’s fingers. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, but she doesn’t move to grab the knife. Somehow, it looks _right_ in Violet’s hand, her grip that of a professional, like she was born to do exactly this. 

“I get it,” Violet answers, leaning in and pressing a soft, totally unexpected kiss to Allison’s cheek before she circles around behind Kate. “It’s always harder when it’s someone you know. Especially when it’s your first.” She speaks with the assuredness of someone who has studied the topic at length, and while Allison suddenly feels a _need_ to know all of Violet’s history, not just the choice tidbits she has dropped here and there, that will have to wait until later. 

For now, the only important thing is that she knows she can trust Violet in this moment.

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty appears in Kate’s eyes, and her smile flags slightly. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, turning her head in an attempt to look at Violet. 

“I have an idea,” Violet says, glancing at Kate with disinterest before she looks back to Allison. “You tell me what to do. And when you’re ready to take over…” She spins Allison’s knife deftly between her fingers. “She’s all yours.” 

It’s not a scenario Allison has ever pictured. It was always her alone. She always delivered the first blow and the last and every one that came in between. If she were to agree to this, she’d be in completely uncharted territory. 

Thankfully, she has a very capable guide.

She takes a step back so she can take Kate in fully, from her tangled hair to where her ankles are wrapped in rope around the legs of the chair. She accesses her imagination, but only as a reference, not as a road map, and after a few moments of contemplation, she exhales and looks directly into Kate’s eyes, even as she speaks to Violet. 

“Cut her face.” 

Immediately, Violet slices a line up Kate’s cheek, reaching all the way to the lobe of her ear. Kate doesn’t make a sound, but her fingernails dig into the arms of the chair as blood pours from the cut and down her neck. 

Violet waits while Allison considers, and even though she barely moved, she’s already breathing hard, lips curling into a grin all of her own. 

“Other side,” Allison says quietly, and a second slice follows moments later. 

It’s the second slice of many.

&.

Kate dies just after daybreak.

Allison expected her to hold out longer. 

Even in death, Kate manages to infuriate her.

&.

They take turns washing the blood off their hands in the small bathroom. Allison takes her time, scrubs underneath her nails and up the length of her forearms. When she rinses away the soap, her skin has taken on a pink tinge, fresh and clean.

Coincidentally, the sink is also tinged pink, and that’s before Violet steps up with her even bloodier hands. 

While she waits for Violet to join her in the living room, Allison studies the husk that used to be her aunt. She has no interest in wandering around the sparsely furnished trailer, trying to figure out how Kate came here, what she has been doing since she left Beacon Hills. 

Frankly, she doesn’t care, and even if she did, it no longer matters. 

She can’t see Kate’s face; her head is dangling towards her chest, surrounded by a thick curtain of hair matted with blood. There will be no more feral grins splitting her mouth, no more sparks of cruelty flickering to life in her eyes. She’s still and motionless and unmistakably dead. 

In her myriad of fantasies, Allison never pictured this moment either. She knew, in the abstract, that regret was a possibility, but she’s pleased to note that, for the time being, she doesn’t regret a thing. 

The only identifiable feeling swelling in her chest is pure and utter _relief_.

Violet emerges from the bathroom, wiping her hands on her jeans, and comes to a stop beside Allison. She rests one hand on the small of Allison’s back, and Allison leans back into the touch.

“That was beautiful,” Violet murmurs, fingers winding into the loose fabric of Allison’s dress. The action makes the dress slide up the back of her thighs, and Allison suddenly feels exposed, feels like she should move away or tug her dress down.

She doesn’t move. She welcomes the feeling. Part of her even wishes that Violet would keep going, keep bunching up the fabric until it’s gathered around her waist. 

But, unfortunately, they have more pressing matters to attend to. 

Namely, finding some gasoline and a lighter.

&.

They find a book of matches in Kate’s bedside table and a can of gasoline in the bed of the truck. It’s only half full, but the trailer is small enough that they manage to trace a line from the bedroom to the kitchen and everywhere in between. By the time she tosses the empty container into a corner of the living room, Allison’s head is pounding from the fumes. The first gulp of fresh air as she steps outside is exquisite, and for a few moments, she stands on the top step, feeling the rising sun strike her face, filling her lungs.

And then Violet gently presses her forward, and she remembers that they have a job to finish.

Once they’ve reached the bottom of the steps, she sparks up a match from the book and tosses it through the front door. It hits the living room carpet, which immediately begin to smolder, releasing thick gray smoke that spirals towards the ceiling. After a few moments, a tiny orange flame appears, a flicker of hunger, the beginning of consumption. 

Only when the fire gets going in earnest do they strip off their clothes, everything except their underwear, and toss it through the open door. They have spare sets in the backpack at Violet’s feet, but Allison doesn’t reach for it. Instead, she turns to look at Violet, feeling the steadily increasing heat of the fire building at her side. She’s stripped down to a practical black bra and matching underwear, and there are a variety of scars decorating her body, lighter lines of tissue standing out against her brown skin. Strong, lithe muscle stripes her limbs, and now that Allison has seen her true strength and power, the sight of them is enthralling. 

Violet looks right back at her. Allison can feel her gaze travelling over her body, unashamedly lingering. 

“I think we’re good here,” Violet says as her eyes move back to Allison’s face. “You wanna get going?”

Allison takes one last look at the trailer, the living room of which is well on the way to being fully consumed by flames. If she squints, she can make out the slumped shape of Kate’s body, surrounded by a wall of fire. 

There’s nothing more to see. 

So, with a nod, she turns her back and starts walking, ground hot against the soles of her feet. 

She’s not sure who reaches out first, but their fingers link almost immediately.

&.

By the time they get back to the car, it’s beginning to get properly hot out, and at their backs, a pillar of black smoke is stretching into the bright blue sky.

There’s no telling how long it’ll be before someone comes to extinguish the fire – there’s really no other signs of civilization for a few miles around, but all it will take is one Good Samaritan on the highway to notice and call it in. In order to truly be safe, they should peel out as soon as possible. 

Instead, once they have reached the car, Allison slides into the back seat. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. After tossing the backpack into the driver’s seat, Violet follows her. 

Their first kiss is like the clash of two blades. They don’t quite fit together, but with each subsequent attempt, they get more and more comfortable, until the press of her mouth against Violet’s feels as natural as an arrow slotting against her bow. Their few remaining clothes hit the floor within minutes, but when Allison reaches for the buckle holding her knives to her thigh, Violet stops her. 

“No,” she says, gliding her fingers along the inside of Allison’s leg. “Leave them on.” 

Allison obeys and moves her fingers away from the buckle to the curve of Violet’s breast instead. 

Based on the way Violet shudders and arches her back into the touch, Allison thinks that she’s made the right decision. 

They fuck until the sun is high in the sky, until Allison’s skin is drenched in sweat, stuck to the faux leather of the backseat. She loses count of how many times she comes, clenched around Violet’s fingers, rolling upwards against the searing heat of her mouth and, on one occasion, arching up against the hilt of one of her knives as Violet rubs it against the swollen heat of her clit. In return, she loses count of how many times Violet shakes apart. 

Eventually, they grow too tired, too stiff and sticky and sore to continue. Even then, neither of them make a move to change into their spare clothes. Instead, they stay in the back seat, twisted and tangled together in a heap of sweaty limbs, panting for breath, squinting against the intrusion of the sun. 

When Allison inhales through her nose, she can smell smoke, carried on the faint breeze. 

But still no sirens. 

“So,” Violet says, as she traces her fingertips down the length of Allison’s spine. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Allison nods, and the point of her chin briefly dimples the top of Violet’s breast. 

“Do you want to do that again? Or was it just your aunt?” Allison can hear a note of hope in the question, and if she hadn’t already been swayed over to the former option, that note of hope would have been enough to pull her over the edge.

Sure, she may have achieved what she set out to do - she eliminated the threat of Kate. But Kate isn’t the only person who is a threat. There are plenty of other hunters out there that have no interest in following the new code that her father has established. There are plenty of other people who, given the chance, would try to hurt the people that she loves. 

She can prevent that from happening, if she can get to them first. 

“I want to do it again,” she says firmly. 

When Violet turns to press a kiss into Allison’s tousled, damp hair, Allison can feel her smiling. 

“Good.”

&.

They get back to Beacon Hills in the middle of the afternoon and, after quickly responding to her texts so that no one thinks anything is amiss, she passes out on top of her blankets, skin still sticky with saliva and come and sweat.

She sleeps for six straight hours. 

She doesn’t dream about Kate once. Instead, she dreams about Violet.

It’s the best she’s slept in months.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
